Just
by ProfSnape
Summary: Jack and Sam have very different perspectives on Sam and Martin's developing relationship - but they're starting to come to the same conclusion. MS pairing. Chapter Five is now posted; this is the concluding chapter in this story. NB: Chapters 1-4 have a
1. Just Enough

Title: Just Enough  
Rating: PG-13, at worst  
Category: M/S romance  
Spoilers: Up to early season 3. If you know anything at all about Sam  
and Martin's developing relationship, you should be fine.  
Summary: Slightly angst-y fluff. A chance encounter in a sunny park  
leads to questions about the choices Samantha has made.

Disclaimer: Martin, Sam, Danny, Viv, Jack and Maria are not mine and  
I'm making no profit from borrowing them for a little while.

Author's note: Down here in Australia, we're a bit behind in our WAT episodes. When this was written, we hadn't even finished Season Two, let alone started Season 3. So everything I knew about the events of the new season comes from episode descriptions and mailing list discussions.

Feedback greatly appreciated.

-

JACK

A headache pounded behind Jack Malone's eyes. The day was bright and  
clear, but the sunshine only made the pain worse. It felt like a  
tribe of little pygmies thumping bongo drums had taken up residence  
in his skull. Viv sat quietly beside him, eating a muffin, and he  
couldn't bring himself to look at her.

God, what a mess.

'Viv - ' he began.

'Forget it, Jack.' She crumpled up the paper bag her breakfast had  
come in, and tucked it neatly into her handbag. 'They gave me a  
choice, you know. Stay with Missing Persons with a demotion back to  
my old status, or move to Colorado to keep the promotion.'

He took a deep breath and looked at her. 'Why did you stay?'

She took a bite of muffin, chewed slowly, swallowed. 'I like it here.  
Reggie's settled. He didn't want to move to Colorado, and neither did  
I. The promotion wasn't that important to me.'

He said nothing. He didn't have enough energy for Vivian's problems  
as well as his own, anyway. Everything was so confused. Maria and the  
girls in Chicago. Divorce papers signed. Lawyers and custody battles  
and Samantha Spade's name soon to be dragged through the mud if he  
fought for joint custody of his daughters.

Samantha.

Two years ago, she had walked away from him when she realised that  
his marriage was not, as he had always told her, irrevocably over.  
Watching her go - letting her go - had been the hardest thing he  
had ever done. Now he was free, really free, and he didn't know quite  
what to do.

Because, of course, Maria had never been the only obstacle to loving  
Samantha. There was the job, too. And the age difference. And the  
insidious, sneaking suspicion that she wanted something that he  
simply couldn't give.

'Jack?'

He flinched at the curiousity in Viv's voice. 'Sorry. Just thinking.'

'Why do I get the impression it's not about the job?'

Jack rubbed his temples. It was never any good trying to hide  
anything from Viv. 'Probably because it's not.'

She patted his arm, awkwardly. 'I can't imagine what it would be like  
to be fighting for custody of Reggie. If there's anything I can do - '

He shook his head before considering how much that would hurt. 'I  
don't think there's anything anyone can do. Even if I get joint  
custody, the girls will still have to spend the bulk of their time in  
Chicago with Maria.' And he couldn't follow them there. He could have  
done it to keep his family intact, but he couldn't - wouldn't -  
crawl after Maria begging for scraps of his daughters' time.

'We're worried about you, Jack,' Viv said, gently.

He looked away from her, out across the sunlit park where joggers and  
children basked in the fresh peacefulness so uncommon in a big city.  
He didn't want her pity. Didn't want anyone's - with one possible  
exception. 'Is that why you brought me here? To pat me on the head  
and tell me every cloud has a silver lining?'

She sighed. ' No, I brought you here because you don't look like  
you've done anything but work for the past three weeks. You could use  
a little sunshine.'

He didn't need her to mother him, and maybe he would have told her so  
if he hadn't suddenly recognised one of the joggers. Samantha. He  
could only catch glimpses of her through the trees, but that was all  
it took. A flash of golden hair. The sweet curve of her cheek.  
Familiar limbs encased, unfamiliarly, in sweats. She seemed to be  
with someone, talking to someone, but he couldn't see who.

Suddenly, he knew exactly what he wanted to do about his new found  
freedom, and heaven help the man who stood in his way. He took a deep  
breath, and dragged his gaze away, because it certainly wouldn't do  
for Vivian to guess what he had been thinking if she too spotted the  
younger agent.

'Isn't that Martin?' she said, suddenly.

Jack blinked. No, he wanted to say. It's Samantha. What are you  
talking about? They couldn't possibly both be running around the  
same park on the same morning at the same time.

Then Samantha emerged from the trees onto an open stretch of track  
and he saw her companion, properly, for the first time.

'That is Martin,' Viv was saying, 'and isn't that Sam with him?'

Jack forced himself to nod. Samantha was laughing at something,  
glancing up at Martin and gesturing. She looked happy and animated  
and sweaty and he couldn't ever remember seeing her so relaxed. So  
casual.

Martin grinned, damn him, and dropped back to a walk. Samantha  
laughed again and walked beside him, talking. Jack could hear the  
sound of her voice, but he couldn't make out the words however hard  
he strained. And, with Vivian perched right beside him, he could  
hardly try to creep closer so he could listen better.

'I wonder if Danny's here somewhere, too,' Viv said.

Jack stared at her. 'Why the hell would Danny be here?'

Vivian shrugged. 'We're here. Sam and Martin are here. Why not?' She  
stood up, stretching a little, and Jack snapped at her before he  
could stop himself.

'Where are you going?'

She paused mid-stride and looked at him as though he had decided to  
dye his hair purple. 'I'm going down to say hello,' she said. 'Are  
you coming?'

Relief pumped through him. If Viv hadn't seen it, hadn't seen the  
casual intimacy that seemed so obvious to him, then maybe he was  
imagining it. Maybe his mind was playing tricks on him, trying to  
convince him that Samantha would inevitably prefer young Martin to  
middle-aged Jack. 'We may as well,' he said, and stood.

Then he froze.

Over Vivian's shoulder, he had a clear view down the slope to where  
Samantha and Martin walked together - far clearer than he wanted. Gut  
twisting in time with the pounding in his head, he watched as Martin  
grabbed Samantha's arm and playfully spun her around. Backed her  
against a tree while she laughed up at him.

Bent his head and kissed her.

Vivian spotted his distraction and turned around before he could stop  
her. She turned back to him, eyebrows raised. 'Maybe we shouldn't go  
say hello, after all.'

Perfectly composed, she sat back down on the bench. 'Jack?'

He tore his eyes away and sat down beside her. He didn't need to  
watch to see the simple intimacy in that kiss, the easy way Sam's  
arms slipped up around Martin's neck. He risked a glance down the  
hill, and they were walking again, heading side-by-side towards an  
ice-cream stand. He swallowed hard.

'What the hell am I going to do about that?'

Vivian raised her eyebrows at him. 'Absolutely nothing?'

'Affairs between co-workers - ' He stopped midsentence. He could  
hardly continue down that path without landing himself in a huge  
pile of hypocrisy. Vivian looked at him steadily, and said  
nothing. 'Damn it, Viv, you know as well as I do - '

'I know that what single, consenting adults do in their off-duty  
hours is none of our business, Jack. And you know that, too.'

He did know it, unfortunately. The Bureau considered affairs between  
superior and subordinate unacceptable but, if discretion was  
practiced and working hours respected, had little desire or  
jurisdiction to censure relationships between equals.

Viv pressed her advantage. 'She's happy, Jack. Let her just be  
happy.'

It was, probably, the closest she would dare come to saying 'I know  
you want her back, but you can't have her'. It was certainly close  
enough to sting.

'One thing you learn about being in charge, Viv, is that  
the "happiness" of one agent can compromise an entire investigation.'

She said absolutely nothing, again, just looked down the slope so  
pointedly that his gaze drifted there without his permission.  
Chocolate ice-creams. He'd never had a chance to jog with her and eat  
chocolate ice-creams on a warm spring morning. Never wiped a melting  
trickle from the side of her cone and made a joke that made her  
chuckle. He'd had his family to think of, after all. And his job.

His head ached, his stomach clenched, and all he could think was  
It's not fair, not fair, not fair.

As though she sensed his gaze, Samantha looked up. For a moment, his  
eyes locked with hers, and an odd expression crossed her face. Then  
it vanished and, before he could look away, the two of them were  
walking together up the slope, relaxed and calm.

Vivian touched his arm. 'Be nice, Jack,' she muttered, and he  
wondered why she was so accepting of Martin when she had been so  
quietly condemning of him for doing the same thing, wanting the same  
woman.

Martin stopped a few feet away, hand sticky with ice-cream, and gave  
a polite smile. He knows, Jack thought, startled. He knows about me  
and Samantha. The younger man's eyes were guarded, but there was no  
fear in his stance. No submission. He stood there beside her, tall  
and alert.

'Hey,' he said. 'This weather seems to be bringing everyone out.' He  
made no excuse, no stammered explanation as to why the two of them  
were in the park that morning, eating ice-creams and kissing in the  
sunlight.

Jack slid his hands into his pockets before they clenched into  
visible fists. 'That's a nutritious breakfast, Agent Fitzgerald.'

Samantha took a bite of her cone, crunching delicately. 'It's ten  
a.m., Jack. Breakfast was hours ago.'

Martin smiled politely. Again.

Vivian stood up. 'You know, those look mighty good. I think I might  
head home, drag Reggie out of bed, and take him out for ice-cream. We  
used to do that a lot when he was little - it's been too long.'

Jack sat silently while Sam and Martin said their goodbyes. He had  
nothing to say. All he could see, all he could think of, was the  
young couple standing calmly in front of him. No excuses. No  
explanations. No effort to pretend they hadn't been together all  
morning.

No attempt to shove the fact in his face.

It seemed wrong that Samantha looked so happy, standing there with  
Martin, as though he, Jack, no longer mattered to her at all. Unable  
to stand it any longer, he jerked to his feet. 'I'll see you Monday  
morning,' he said, and strode away without another word.

-

SAMANTHA

It felt good to be jogging, with the sun warming her hair and the  
breeze cooling her face. Normally, she preferred to exercise alone,  
but Martin was a good companion. She'd gone jogging with Danny once,  
to clear her head after an all-nighter, and he'd done nothing but  
chat non-stop. Martin talked occasionally, but just enough to make  
things interesting. Unlike Danny, Martin knew when to talk and when  
to be quiet.

Martin.

It bothered her, a little, how much she seemed to be thinking about  
him lately. When she was with him. When she wasn't. Since her  
impulsive invitation two months ago - and maybe even before that -  
she had started noticing a lot of things about Martin.

He could cook cajun chicken surprisingly well, but always burnt  
toast. Most Saturday mornings, he babysat Ava so that Jamie and her  
husband could have a couple of hours 'grown up time'. He loved  
MASH, and had the complete series on DVD, so that he could watch  
his favourite episodes to unwind after a stressful day. He was  
interested in philosophy, and had a whole shelf of books about  
Aristotle and Kant and epistemology and metaphysics which she was  
going to have to try to read some day, to figure out what the appeal  
was.

He looked at her with faith and hope and longing showing strong in  
his eyes.

That was a little disturbing, because she frankly didn't know if she  
had it in her to give him what he seemed to want. But he was wise  
enough - or cautious enough - not to push the matter, and she was  
mostly content to let this thing between them unfold at its own pace  
without worrying that she was losing control.

'Let's get ice-creams,' she said, impulsively.

Martin looked across at her, grinning. 'Doesn't that kinda defeat the  
purpose of jogging?'

She chuckled, delighting in the sunshine and the breeze and the  
gentle amusement on his face. 'Ice-cream has milk in it. You haven't  
had any dairy products this morning, have you?'

He slowed back to a walk. 'I had milk in my coffee.'

She snorted, matching her pace to his. 'One splash of milk hardly  
counts.'

'Two splashes.'

'Prove it.'

He caught her arm, swung her smoothly and gently around so that her  
back was to a tree. She read his intention in his eyes, and tilted  
her head up to him as he kissed her. She tasted coffee and  
toothpaste, and found herself smiling again as he pulled back and  
looked at her.

'Definitely only one splash,' she told him.

He shook his head, smiling. 'Okay. You win. Chocolate?'

'Is there any other kind?'

They walked together across the springy grass, and she felt an odd  
sense of contentment. She'd been feeling that a lot lately, which  
surprised her. With Jack not going to Chicago, she'd expected  
more...confusion. Soul-searching, even. But she spent more time  
wondering why she wasn't worrying than actually worrying, which was  
frankly quite bizarre.

They bought chocolate ice-creams, and Martin looked like a little boy  
with a clandestine treat.

'My mother would never have let me do this,' he said, smiling. 'She  
had this thing about junk food in the mornings. No unhealthy snacks  
before lunch, if at all.'

'Really?'

He nodded, and stole a trickle of chocolate from the side of her  
cone. 'I loved going to Bonnie and Roger's at Easter time because I  
could eat all the chocolate I wanted. Before lunch and after. I  
remember this one time, they set up an Easter egg hunt for me in  
their front yard. My cousins were too little, so they had eggs  
inside. I was determined to find every single egg Bonnie had hidden.'

'And did you?'

'Actually, I found more. I accidentally strayed into a neighbour's  
yard, and stole some of the eggs he'd hidden for his daughter. The  
neighbour was furious, but Bonnie calmed him down. She gave him a  
batch of chocolate fudge brownies, and a big bunch of flowers for the  
little girl. And she made me apologise and take all the extra eggs  
back.'

Sam laughed. 'What a tyrant.'

His smile turned a little sad, as it still always did when he spoke  
of his aunt. 'Yeah, she was up there with Napoleon,' he said, and  
fell silent.

She stood beside him, eating ice-cream and letting him have a moment  
to himself. Bonnie had been more of a Mom to him than his own mother,  
and he still felt her death keenly. She looked around the park as she  
ate, drinking in the simple pleasures of sunshine and flowers and  
laughing children.

Then she saw Jack.

He was sitting on a park bench, next to Vivian, which struck her as  
rather odd. He had the strangest expression on his face, and she  
wondered just how long he had been watching her. Then she consciously  
straightened her spine and nudged Martin.

He looked a little guarded when he spotted Jack - she couldn't really  
blame him for that - but he didn't hesitate to follow when she  
started up the slope to where Jack and Viv were sitting.

Jack watched her, a mixture of hunger and fury on his face. She  
slowed down a little, letting Martin take the lead and stop a short  
distance from the park bench. 'Hey,' he said. 'This weather seems to  
bringing everyone out.'

He sounded calm, Sam realized, and that relaxed her. She didn't want  
the awkwardness of being caught between Jack's anger and Martin's  
defensiveness. Jack was certainly angry - which Martin couldn't  
possibly have missed - but her lover's relaxed pose kept things  
simple.

Jack slid his hands into his jacket pockets. 'That's a nutritious  
breakfast, Agent Fitzgerald,' he said, his tone biting.

Sam flinched at the open hostility. Damn it, she wanted to shout, I'm  
not a bone to be fought over. And I'm certainly not the property of  
Special Agent Jack Malone, supervisor and adulterer. But instead of  
shouting, she took a small bite of ice-cream. 'It's ten a.m., Jack.  
Breakfast was hours ago.'

Actually, they hadn't eaten breakfast that morning, though Jack  
hardly needed to know that.

Beside her, Martin said nothing.

Viv stood up, looked around at the three of them and - sensibly, Sam  
thought - made her goodbyes.

'See you on Monday, Viv,' Martin said, and gave her a little wave as  
she walked away.

Then they were alone with Jack, standing in front of him like naughty  
students. Sam rebelled against the thought. They were consenting  
adults. They were not behaving inappropriately. And she was not  
accountable to Jack Malone for anything she did in her personal life.

He stood, suddenly. 'I'll see you Monday morning,' he said, curtly,  
and strode away.

He knows, she thought, and expected to feel...something. A pang. An  
emptiness. Instead, she took a bite of ice-cream cone, and put her  
free hand on Martin's rigid shoulder.

He spoke before she could, staring off after Jack. 'Do you regret it?'

She stepped around him so that they were face to face. 'Regret what?'  
The affair with Jack? Ending it? Sleeping with Martin?

Martin shrugged and avoided her eyes. 'Making...making a choice.' His  
voice faltered, and it took her a moment to understand why.

He didn't know, not for sure, that she had made a choice. A part of  
him still wondered if he was a stopgap measure, due to be discarded  
now that Jack was soon to be a free man.

Sam answered him the only way she could think of: she slipped her  
fingers through his and tugged him gently down the slope, back to the  
path where they had jogged so happily. Back to the sunshine and the  
peace and the college girls who smirked appreciatively as Martin  
walked past them, oblivious.

'Everyone has regrets, Marty,' she said, tossing the last piece of  
her cone in a nearby trash can. She took his from his unresisting  
fingers and did the same with it. 'And everyone makes choices.'

'I'm not interested in everyone,' he said, and his calm expression  
slipped a little, letting her see the desperation lurking behind his  
eyes. Her stomach fluttered as she glimpsed raw need. God. 'I'm  
interested in you.'

She touched the side of his face, leaving a smear of chocolate on his  
jaw. 'Martin, I can't promise you forever. I don't know if I have it  
in me. But I can promise you that right now, right here is the only  
place I want to be.' Once she said it, it didn't seem enough, but the  
tension left Martin's shoulders and he smiled at her.

He met her eyes. 'Then that's enough.' He brushed a light kiss on her  
forehead, and smoothed her hair with one hand. 'That's enough.'

She let him take her hand as they walked slowly back to his  
apartment, but she couldn't help feeling a little troubled. She  
hadn't wanted him to push her - but she couldn't help wishing,  
almost, that he had. Couldn't help wondering what she would have said  
if he had asked for more.

Couldn't help wondering if maybe she herself wasn't content with  
just 'enough'.

THE END


	2. Just Comfort

Title: Just Comfort (1/1)  
Rating: PG-13?  
Spoilers: Written with 'Upstairs, Downstairs' in mind, but could  
probably bet set after any case involving children.  
Summary: Sequel to 'Just Enough'. Both Sam and Jack are still  
adjusting to the relationship between Sam Martin.  
Disclaimer: I do not own 'Without A Trace' or any of the wonderful  
characters which beong to it. I respectfully borrow them sometimes,  
but make no profit from doing so and always give them back intact.

-

Wednesday morning, 6:00am

The FBI building was deserted at six a.m., except for a few security  
guards patrolling the corridors, two bored cleaners listlessly  
vacuuming, and Jack Malone sitting at his desk, feigning deep  
interest in paperwork.

He ticked boxes, signed his name, and wrote concise, meaningless  
sentences in appropriate places, but his mind was far, far away from  
incident reports and expense reckonings.

Samantha Spade. Chocolate ice cream. Sweat and laughter in a sunny  
suburban park. Why hadn't he known that she liked ice-cream cones?  
Why hadn't he ever jogged with her or kissed her in public with  
simple disregard for what anyone else might do or say?

He put his pen down and rubbed his eyes. How could he have known she  
liked ice cream cones? She'd never told him and he'd never thought to  
ask. Why would he have jogged with her? He hated jogging with  
company - bad enough to jog to keep fit, but who wanted to do it with  
someone else to witness the misery? And, of course, he'd never kissed  
her in public because there were so very many reasons why he couldn't.

It wasn't fair.

He picked up his pen, grabbed another form, and continued writing.  
Maybe, he thought, it wasn't too late. What could a woman like  
Samantha see in Martin - a good agent, but surely the blandest of  
men? Maybe, if he pulled himself together, he could salvage things.  
Make it all right again. Find something positive in everything that  
had happened since Maria left for Chicago.

He found himself getting excited, starting off into space instead of  
working. He could take Samantha away for a weekend, away from prying  
eyes, to a place he could be whoever she wanted him to be with no  
fear of discovery. Maybe...

The bubble lasted exactly one hour and forty seven minutes. Until,  
that his, the object of his desire arrived, clearly not dreaming of a  
steamy weekend with him in Hawaii or Aspen or anywhere else for that  
matter. She walked in beside Martin, smiling at him.

And with painful honesty, Jack had to admit that she had never smiled  
like that for him.

-

Tuesday evening, 8:00pm

Sam arrived at Martin's apartment two hours after telling him she  
wanted to be alone that evening. She walked in, unannounced and  
unexpected, knowing deep down that she would be welcome. That he  
would greet her gladly and listen when she told him the secret that  
was burning in her belly, desperate to be shared.

He rose from the sofa as the door opened, and smiled broadly. 'Hey. I  
thought you couldn't make it tonight.'

'I'm not here for sex, Martin.' She hadn't meant to be so blunt, but  
it had to be said.

His smile didn't falter, though he did cock his head to the side and  
look at her with some curiousity. 'That doesn't matter,' he  
said. 'You want something to drink?'

It would have been a diversion, but she didn't want that. 'I need to  
tell you something, Martin. Something that this case...that this case  
has been making me think about a lot.'

'Okay.' As simple as that. He took her hand, and sat with her on the  
sofa, and his willingness made her more uncomfortable than questions  
would have.

'When I was seventeen, I let a boy sweet-talk me into the back seat  
of his daddy's Buick,' she said, wryly. 'Joey Hurley. I knew better,  
but I thought I loved him, and I was too stupid to realise he never  
loved me. The next thing I knew, I was pregnant.'

That surprised him, but it only showed in his raised eyebrows. He  
said nothing, and she ploughed on. 'I convinced him to marry me. I  
thought that would make it better. Make it right. But my parents  
hated the idea, and I found myself alone with him in a trailer park.  
Poor. Pregnant. I finished high school, but that was all. The only  
accomplishment I had to my name. Then I realised that Joey drank too  
much. Far too much.'

'You divorced him.'

She nodded. 'I was young and stupid, but not that stupid. I wasn't  
going to raise my baby with an alcoholic. Joey didn't care. He didn't  
want the baby anyway. My parents approved of the divorce, but they  
hadn't forgiven me for getting into this mess in the first place. It  
was too late for an abortion, but they thought I should give the baby  
up for adoption.'

She pulled away from Martin, and stood up, restlessly. 'I couldn't do  
it, Martin. I'd felt this baby inside me, felt her move. I couldn't  
give her up. So I kept her. Her name was Jessica Rose. We lived  
together in a dingy little apartment, and I scrimped and saved and  
managed.' She turned back to him, watched him watching her with  
unreadable eyes as she told him of bearing another man's child. 'She  
was my joy,' she said, softly.

He stood up and came over to her. 'What happened?'

She took a deep breath and told him the rest. 'When Jessie was nearly  
fourteen months old, she was asleep in her stroller while we waited  
for a bus. Some drunk college kid lost control, swerved up onto the  
pavement.' Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes, and she stared  
sightlessly across the room. 'She never stood a chance. Three weeks  
after the funeral, I moved to New York. Applied to college. Joined  
the FBI. The rest you know.'

'Sam.' He stroked her hair. 'I'm sorry.'

She knew he meant it. He was that kind of man. She let him slide his  
arms around her, and cried on his shoulder while he rubbed her back  
and murmured words she neither understood nor needed to.

She stayed with him that night, too tired to go back to her apartment  
and too wrung out to want to be alone. If he'd touched her, if he'd  
reached for her, she might have welcome the simple physical release  
of sex. But all he did was offer her a sweatshirt to sleep in, and  
lie beside her in his big bed, listening as she told him stories  
about Jessie.

It was the first time she stayed with him just to be with him.

It was surprisingly comforting to wake up beside him, watching him  
turn his face into his pillow in silent resistance to the alarm. She  
laughed out loud at his sleepy eyes, kissed him on the cheek, and  
went to make him coffee.

It was wet and grey outside, and they had to get to work soon, but  
Sam Spade had a feeling that today might just be a good one.

THE END


	3. Just Perfect

JUST PERFECT

JACK

On Friday, Jack bought new trainers. They pinched his toes as he ran, and they were already soaking wet and muddy. Two days later, and you could barely see traces of the original white leather. He soldiered on, breathing a little more laboured than he was comfortable with, sloshing through puddles and cursing at the rain that trickled into his eyes. He found it hard to believe that a week ago he had sat in a sunny park, watching the joggers and thinking he really ought to get back in shape.

Martin Fitzgerald goes jogging on a Sunday, with Samantha Spade in tow and the sun shining gaily.

Jack Malone goes jogging on a Sunday, all alone, and the heavens weep.

Typical.

He ran to forget, but he couldn't help remembering. A sunny park. Chocolate ice creams. A charming young couple jogging effortlessly on a warm morning.

The next day at work. Sending them on separate assignments, against all logic, because that sort of entanglement could cause distractions. Never mind that he had once told himself that he could do his job no matter who he was sleeping with. Never mind that they'd been carrying on for God knows how long and he hadn't noticed any problems with their work. He knew now, and that was enough.

But Viv knew too, and she gave him a look when he divided up the assignments that day. Samantha with Danny. Him with Viv. Martin back in the office cross-referencing phone records.

Viv not believing him when he told her, 'It just worked out that way.'

He dragged himself back to the present, to the pouring rain and the sloshing puddles and his uncomfortable shoes. Frankly, it was more pleasant than the memories, the thoughts and images rolling through his mind. He was sick of feeling guilty, sick of re-living the last week like some dumb teenager with an unrequited crush.

He was fed up with Martin, sitting behind a desk day after day with that untouchable look on his face. Doing his job. Holding his head high and looking everyone straight in the eye. No shame. No guilt.

He was tired of Samantha, all crisp professionalism and brisk efficiency, never questioning anything except by the spark of defiance in her eyes. Unfailingly polite to him, and making no attempt to explain or justify anything she had done.

And then, of course, there was Danny. Watching everything with those calm, observant eyes. You never knew exactly how much Danny knew or what he approved of. Not until he decided to share – and so far he hadn't.

When, Jack wondered, had his life become so damn complicated?

The rain was getting heavier, and he found himself wiping water from his face and looking around for shelter. He was, he realised, near Elgin Street, right near the Hummingbird Café. Maybe it was stupid to go there – to the one public place he had felt safe taking Samantha, because it was so far from home and so unlike his normal style – but it was close and it would be dry and...Well, somehow, he couldn't resist.

He turned down Elgin, ignored the little voice in his head telling him what a god-damned stupid idea this was, and pushed the café's door open. A bell tinkled, a perky young waitress smiled at him brightly, and no-one mentioned the fact that he was dripping water all over the floor. They wouldn't, not here.

The café's exterior was drab and faded, but the interior was bright and colourful. Cutesy hummingbird windchimes tinkled outside each window, and the walls were covered with cheap, bright prints of birds and flowers. The waitresses all wore bright yellow t-shirts, and the menu was chalked untidily on the board behind the cash register.

Jack found an empty table and sat down. The radio was trilling away softly in the background, and most of the patrons looked like students: young, carefree, underfunded. He felt old, and wondered what these people had thought of him and Samantha, sitting in the darkest corner and drinking coffee. He'd always, he remembered, carried a file or two with him, just in case Maria should walk in. Not that she ever would, not that she liked cheap and noisy little cafés, but just in case.

He leaned back in his chair and ordered a coffee from the perky waitress. He didn't want one, but he could hardly stay there, sheltering from the rain, without ordering something. Samantha had always liked this unnaturally colourful place, he remembered, though he had never understood why. She kept telling him not to bring the files, that Maria would never come in, that he needed to make up his mind what the hell he was doing with his life and stick to it .

Maybe he should have listened.

He sat with his back to the door, sipping coffee he didn't want, and waiting for the rain to stop. He should go home, he thought. Call the girls. Maybe go into the office and catch up with some paperwork. Find something to do other than moping around like a melancholy teenager.

The door tinkled behind him, and he heard a woman's laugh.

Her laugh.

He had no idea if she saw him or not – she must have, in that tiny little café – but he didn't stop to think or talk or wonder. He dumped money on the table for his unfinished coffee and bolted. Out through the door, past a distinctly startled looking Martin, past Samantha's shocked face, and back out into the rain.

Perfect, he thought. Just perfect.

SAMANTHA

She'd always know he was curious. She figured he couldn't help it. You didn't become an FBI agent without a certain amount of inbuilt nosiness, an inherent longing to find the answers and make the world make sense again. Yet Martin never asked her about her time with Jack, never asked her what had possessed her to enter into an affair with a married man who was also her supervisor. He endured Jack's silent torment at work, and never asked anything.

Maybe that was why she felt obliged to tell him.

Sitting cross-legged on his big bed, she looked out the window at the rain and tried to find the words. Martin leaned back against his pillows and watched her.

'Something on your mind?'

She turned to face him. 'You never ask me about Jack.' Blunt, she decided. That was the best way. 'About what happened.'

He shrugged and looked away. 'It's not really relevant, is it? I mean, that was then. This is now. People...people make mistakes, Sam. We see that every day.'

She smiled. That was so typically Martin. 'Jack was the biggest mistake of my life. I look back sometimes, and I wonder what possessed me. I knew he was married, I knew it was wrong, but...but somehow it still happened.'

'Does that still bother you? That he was married?'

She looked away, back out at the rain. It would be hard, she thought, for Martin to understand what she had been thinking back then. Ethics were a matter of black and white for him, right and wrong. If she'd been married, no matter how attracted he was, he wouldn't have made a move. No way. He might have suffered, he might have dreamed, but he just wouldn't do it. But he was trying to understand, and for that she had to give him credit. 'It bothers me now, maybe more than it did then.'

She looked back and found him looking at her again, that familiar puzzled frown crinkling his brow. 'Martin, I...I told you about Jessie, right?'

He nodded.

'I stayed away from men for a long time after she died. Years. I'd made such a mess of my life and all I wanted to do was sort it out. She died and I survived, so in a way I needed to live for both of us, you know?'

He reached out and cupped the side of her face in his hand. 'You were a grieving kid,' he said softly. 'I can understand that.'

She smiled, a little tearily, and resisted the urge to nuzzle her face against the palm of his hand. 'It seemed so unfair that she was the one who died, when she was the innocent one. So I tried – I tried so hard to straighten things out. And for a few years I did. Then I met Jack and everything fell apart again.'

'You were lonely.' It wasn't a question.

'I'd gone to extremes during college and just afterwards. Did nothing but study or work. I never had the social life that most college kids did. There was this café Jack took me to sometimes. I liked it because it always had students there. I could...I guess I could see that carefree atmosphere I missed out on.'

She slid off the bed and walked to the window. 'Anyway, when I met Jack, the last thing I was thinking of was an affair. But it was the first time in years I was receptive to maybe getting involved with a man and...' Her voice trailed off. It was impossible to explain the rest to Martin. The loneliness. The inadequacy. The seduction, slow and almost sweet. 'It was such a stupid thing to do, and a few months later is was over. I vowed I'd never do it again.'

He came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. 'Sleep with a married man?'

She smiled ruefully and turned to face him. 'Or a co-worker.' She rubbed her cheek against his shoulder and slid her arms around his hips. 'I guess some rules are meant to be broken.'

'How - ' He stopped himself mid-sentence. 'No, forget it. It doesn't matter.'

But it did, she thought, if he was wondering about it. Worrying, maybe. 'Finish it, Martin. It's okay.'

'How did it end?'

She turned back to the window, but didn't pull away from his arms. 'That café we went to. We only went there because there was no chance anyone who knew Jack would go there. It was such an unlikely place for Special Agent Jack Malone to be. Even so, we only went there a few times, and he always took some files with him so that we could pretend to be working. It was the only public place we ever went out to.'

She could see his reflection in the window panes, she realised, and she could see that his eyes were sad and serious as he stood behind her. Sympathetic. She reached up and patted his shoulder awkwardly. 'Anyway, one day we were sitting there in the café and Jack said something about how awful it was, about how he never would normally go there normally.'

'Was it awful?'

She shook her head and kept watching his reflection. 'I didn't think so. It was cheap and cheerful and not really my normal thing, either. But I liked the college kids. And it was the sort of place I might have taken Jessie for milkshakes when she was older, if I was still struggling for money.' She stopped for a moment, considering. Martin had never in his life known what it was like to struggle for money, truly struggle. Probably he wouldn't like the Hummingbird Café any better than Jack had. Possibly he wouldn't even understand what it was about it that had tugged at her, that had reminded her of the path she might have taken if not for Jessie short life and tragic death.

'There was this place I used to like in college,' Martin told her. 'It wasn't one of the trendy bars or cafés. This old Italian lady – Maria – ran it, and she used to make this wonderful tomato soup on cold winter days.' She watched his reflection smile, reminiscing, and felt a tug of warmth when he rested his chin on her shoulder. 'When I decided I was going to join the FBI, I took my father there. I knew he'd hate it, but I wanted somewhere familiar when I told him I wasn't going into politics.'

She could picture it so clearly, the young, idealistic man steeling his courage over a bowl of old Maria's steaming tomato soup. The dictatorial father sitting ill at ease in a working class café. She smiled.

'I never had a place like that in college. Maybe that's why I liked the Hummingbird so much. Anyway, when Jack said that, when he said how awful it was, it made me think. He left first, like he always did, and I sat there and thought about it. It was a tacky café, I realised, for a tacky part of his life. He wouldn't have taken Maria there, or his daughters. And I realised I didn't want to be a tacky part of any man's life, not then, not ever.'

Restless, she pulled away from Martin, walked across the room. His bedroom always reminded her of him: neat, comfortable, solid. She ran a hand along the polished headboard of his bed, liking the smooth feel of it under her hand. She liked to come here, because her bed, her apartment still reminded her too much of Jack.

Martin grabbed his shoes and sat on the bed. 'Get dressed.'

She blinked. 'What?'

He paused, one shoe dangling from his hand. 'Let's go to the Hummingbird Café, Sam. Let's go pretend to be college kids for a morning.'

She felt a smile spreading across her face, almost before she registered the bubble of happiness in her chest. 'If they still have the same cook, they make the most delicious blueberry pancakes,' she said. 'And hot chocolate you would die for.' Neither of which she'd tasted while Jack was there. She always ordered the same thing – a cappucino, one sugar - when they sat down together. It was only after he left, while she was waiting the requisite half hour before leaving, that she tried other things on the menu. Blueberry pancakes. Hot chocolate. Raspberry ice cream sundaes. Toasted sandwiches.

It didn't take them long to get ready, and it didn't take her long to drive downtown to Elgin Street. Funny, that she had never thought of going back there before now. After all, although the Hummingbird Café had seen shameful, clandestine meetings, it had also seen two highlights of her relationship with Jack: the day she decided to end it, and the day, not long after, when she actually did. It was a good place, and it felt good to be taking Martin there. It felt right.

She pulled up to the kerb, and, laughing, they made the dash from the car to the door. The exterior was just how she remembered it: simple, pleasant, a little worn. The door still jingled when she pushed it open, and the interior walls were still a bright, cheerful yellow, which matched the shirts the waitresses wore. Martin crowded behind her, nudging her out of the doorway so that he could get in out of the rain.

Then she froze. Jack. He was sitting at the table that had always been theirs – the most isolated, secretive table possible in such a cheery, open place – and staring right back at her. He stood quickly, threw a handful of coins on the table, and marched out without a word, shouldering Martin roughly aside.

'Well,'she said, as the door slammed after him. 'That's weird.' It was all she could think of to say.

'This is getting ridiculous,' Martin muttered. 'What does he do? Follow us around?'

She reached behind her and took his hand. 'I doubt it, Martin. He was here first.' She led him to a table near one of the windows and, when he still looked doubtful, nudged him into a seat. She gestured around – at the walls, the pictures, the college kids, the waitresses – and forced a smile. 'What do you think?'

He looked at her, hard, for a moment, then turned to studied the café. When he turned back, he was smiling again. 'Bonnie would love this,' he said, quietly. 'She'd love to bring Ava here and show her the windchimes.'

It always hurt him to think of his aunt, she knew, who was currently enduring pain and suffering he wouldn't inflict on his worst enemy. She squeezed his hand, and tried to think of something to say.

A waitress appeared, smiling brightly. 'Hi, my name's Rachel. Can I get you folks anything?'

'I'll have a hot chocolate, please,' Sam said, relieved at the distaction. 'And do you still have blueberry pancakes?'

'We sure do.'

Martin smiled at the girl. 'We'll have a large serve to share, please. And you'd better make that two hot chocolates.'

Rachel nodded and scribbled on her notepad. 'I'll bring the drinks straight out, and the pancakes should be ready in about ten minutes.'

'That sounds great,' Sam said, and watched the waitress leave. She looked at Martin, at his melancholy smile, at the comfortable way he looked around at the hummingbirds on the walls. Actually, she thought, it was perfect. Just perfect.


	4. Just Because

JACK

The bar last night had seemed like such a good idea. Get out, have a few beers, start to forget. Smile at a flashy brunette and make jokes with a curvaceous redhead. Buy a beer for a woman with hair as dark as midnight. Ignore any blonde that walked through the door, because that was just asking for trouble. Tell himself that he was a single man now, with an empty calendar and no obligations. His girls were in Chicago, the divorce papers would soon be signed, and he could do whatever the hell he wanted to.

Except that what he _wanted_ had nothing to do with a smoky bar. Or beer that tasted like horse piss, or music that hurt his ears, or salty pretzels that tasted stale and vaguely odd. What he wanted had nothing to do with brunettes or redheads or anything other than blonde women. One blonde woman.

What he _wanted_ was Samantha.

Moody – all the more so because he was aware how goddamned juvenile it was to think like this, to act like this – he kicked his car's tyres before he got in. He knew they weren't flat, but he wanted to sharp, stinging pain singing up his leg. Just because. He sped to work for much the same reason. He wasn't late, it wasn't urgent, he just bloody well _felt_ like it.

And, he vowed, if any half-pint cop dared pulled him over, he'd shoot the bastard.

He screeched into the FBI building's underground parking lot, and jogged up six flights of steps instead of taking the lift. His lungs burned and his heart pounded, and the scowl on his face deepened with every step. It was very satisfying.

He was early – though not as early as he would have been if he'd taken the lift – but Vivian was there before him. She looked at him curiously when, panting and red, he stormed down the corridor, but she didn't say a word.

He wished she would, just so he could have the satisfaction of telling her to mind her own damn business.

He slammed his office door behind him, threw his briefcase on the visitor's chair and, suddenly drained, sat down on the corner of his desk.

What the hell was he doing? Stomping around like a sulky child? He was an FBI agent, for Christ's sake. A supervisor. Right now, there was someone out there who was missing, whose life might well depend on his expertise and his ability to do his job. Quickly. Correctly. Without bias.

He scrubbed his hands over his face. He wanted coffee, he decided. Or maybe water would be better. Actually, he had no idea what the hell he wanted, except that one thing, that one person, that he couldn't have. Slowly, wearily, he climbed to his feet and walked around behind his desk. Tilted his chin in the air, thinking _I will get through this_. Picked up the phone, listened to his messages. Tried not calculate that the one voice he most wanted to hear had not left a message, even a work-related on, for him for seventeen days. Scribbled notes and ignored the burning behind his eyes.

He set the phone back down in its cradle, proud of himself for not slamming it down as he wanted to. A noise made him look up, even though he knew pretty much what he would see.

Vivian stood in the doorway, shoulder propped against the door jamb. 'You're in a bad mood this morning, Jack.'

He shrugged, bad tempered, but trying to be restrained. 'I didn't sleep so well last night.'

'Worried about the girls?'

Not really. 'Yeah, I guess you could say that.' Maria hadn't turned out to be his dream wife, but she had always been a good mother. Competent. Kind. Organised. 'I'll be fine.'

Vivian straightened, and he was surprised to see a touch of annoyance around her eyes. 'Of course you will be, Jack.' She turned to go, then paused and looked at him over her shoulder. 'I'm sure I don't need to tell you that working yourself into a tantrum won't make _anything_ better. I'm sure, as a parent, you've had occasion to point that out yourself.'

He said nothing, partly because he could recognise the truth in what she said, and partly because he didn't trust himself to speak civilly if he spoke at all. He watched her walk away, and breathed deeply.

God, he needed to settle down. Focus. Prepare for the day ahead. Take a solemn internal vow to get Martin out in the field today, with Danny or Viv. Or Samantha.

But he didn't want to. He wanted to sit and stew, just because he could. Because he felt like it.

Because anything was better than facing the knowledge that it was time to concede defeat.

SAMANTHA

She'd gone to her own apartment the night before, mostly because she wanted nothing more than to go to Martin's. But she'd stayed with him three nights in a row, which made her vaguely uneasy. Or, at least, it _should_ have. The fact that it didn't made her even uneasier than she should have felt in the first place.

And logic of _that_ kind was exactly why she needed some time to herself. To think. To clear her head. To assert her independence, even though she wasn't entirely sure why that was necessary any more. So she ordered Chinese food for dinner, finished some paperwork, cleaned out her refrigerator, surfed the web for some sites that might tell her what some of Martin's weird-ass philosophy books were about.

And still felt proud of herself, because she only called him once, to say goodnight.

Amused at herself, she grinned as she strolled across the car park and pressed the button for the elevator. From now on, she decided, she wasn't going to stew over anything, or tie herself in knots trying to decide how she should feel about the way she suspected she felt about Martin. She was just going to go with the flow, and enjoy it. No more analysing every emotion, every thought, every expression. If she felt like smiling, she'd smile, just _because_ she felt like it. Because lately her life was good, and surprisingly settled, and, even more surprisingly, _fun_.

Although it wasn't so surprising, really, when you considered that she had a stimulating job which she absolutely loved (most days, at least), good health, and a man in her life who was perfectly content eating blueberry pancakes at the Hummingbird Café on a Sunday morning.

She stood in the elevator, felt the floor surging under her, and hummed under her breath. In a few moments, she'd need to settle down. Pull professionalism around her like a protective cloak, and slide her FBI agent persona on like a pair of latex gloves. But for the moment, she let herself indulge in the unfamiliar sensation of being _happy_, for no particular reason.

The lift jerked to a halt, and the doors slid open. She rolled her shoulders, and mentally strapped on a focused attitude much as she had, earlier that morning, strapped on her gun. Then she stepped out into the carpeted corridor and felt herself lapsing into her G-woman stride. Head up, eyes alert, ready for anything.

If a small part of her mind still found the time to wonder if Martin was in yet or if he was running late, she figured that was her business and no-one else's.

She walked down the corridor, still smiling slightly, and wondered what the day would bring.

THE END


	5. Just Martin

**Warning: The rating for this section changes to PG-13, for violence.**

JACK

Warehouses. Why did kidnappers love warehouses so damn much? Maybe they watched too many corny movies, with shootouts galore and bad guys ducking behind old shipping crates. Or maybe there was a website – Kidnappers'R'Us – with lists of abandoned buildings where you could stash a victim. Maybe warehouses were abandoned more often than other buildings, though God only knew why.

Maybe, Jack thought, his imagination was working overtime while he stood here in the semi-darkness, waiting.

'I'm in place, Jack.' Viv's voice whispered through the silence, and he nodded curtly even though she couldn't possibly see him. He thumbed the safety off his gun, and eased forward in the darkness, lifting his glorified walkie-talkie to murmur, 'Okay guys, move in.'

He couldn't hear a damn thing, but he trusted his team. They'd be moving in, he knew, sliding through the darkness as discussed, as planned. Approaching the little office where their victim was – he very much hoped – being held captive. Alive.

He'd never admit it, but he hated this. Hated the darkness – because, of course, you couldn't advertise your presence by anything as logical as bright lights – and the secrecy, and knowing that if you tripped, if you made a noise, a teenage girl might die. Hell _you_ might die, depending on how jumpy and how accurate the kidnapper was. Hated knowing that, before the night was out, you might end up shooting a twenty year old idiot in front of a terrified fifteen year old.

Nights like these, he _hated_ his job.

Of course, it would be worth it later, when they returned the girl to her parents. It was always worth it to see the tears of joy in a father's eyes, a mother clinging tightly to her child, a kid crying in pent-up fear and relief.

Jack edged carefully past a stack of crates – didn't anyone ever clean a warehouse out before they left it? – and got the little office in his line of sight. He could see a light shining dully through the doorway, and what looked like someone pacing close to – but not in front of – the door. Towards the left, he caught a glimpse of blonde hair, and knew that Samantha was close.

He pulled his gaze away, and forced himself to focus. To the right, he noticed, there was movement as well. Martin, he calculated, because Vivian and Danny should be hanging back, blocking the exits. He wondered, briefly, if there was something almost Freudian about bringing the three of them together like this – him, Samantha, Martin, creeping up on the kidnapper, in the danger seats, so to speak.

But he didn't have time to think about that.

The light in the office at least increased visibility a bit. He eased forward, trying to keep in the shadows as much as he could, and waited until Samantha looked in his direction. He raised his hand – cautiously – and gestured. _Go_, he thought. _GO!_

A split second later, Hell erupted, and he realised his mistake. Martin hadn't quite been in place. Hadn't quite reached the safe point from behind which he was supposed to cover Samantha. But she couldn't see that, couldn't see him, and she swung into action because Jack had told her to. Because he was in charge, and he could see.

So Samantha shouted her warning – _FBI! Drop your weapon!_ – without cover, and while Martin was still exposed, still only part way across the big open space near the office.

Jack froze.

The kidnapper snapped to attention, swung his pistol wildly between the two agents.

Martin brought his weapon up, sharply, realising his danger, realising Samantha's danger.

The girl screamed.

The kid with the gun panicked, let off a wild shot which, thank God, buried itself harmlessly into a wall.

Samantha tensed, realising that her back up, her partner, was not in place.

Jack couldn't move.

Then everything happened fast. Martin improvised, running forward to stand beside Samantha. Gun up, voice calm, he shouted at the boy. _Drop your weapon! Drop it! _The boy looked wildly from one to the other, stepped further back into the office. He half turned towards the girl, but two shots rang out. _Bang! Bang!_ The girl screamed again, and the stupid twenty year old kid hit the floor. Martin dropped to his knees, and Jack found himself running forward, running towards the office. He could smell blood, but there was sweat pouring in his eyes and he couldn't quite see what was happening. Who was shot.

He reached the doorway, and his world settled again. The boy was dead. He could see that in an instant. A large chunk of his chest had been blown away, and there was no point even calling for an ambulance. Martin was kneeling in front of the girl, working at the knots binding her to the chair, trying to get her out and away from the horror. Samantha was calling Danny and Viv, following procedure, calling for assistance to secure the scene.

Jack stood behind them, feeling helpless. Feeling stupid. Christ, he could have got her killed. His gut lurched, thinking of Samantha stretched out dead in a morgue, dead because of him and his inability to concentrate when it mattered most.

He watched silently as Danny and Viv arrived, watched Viv take the girl away, and listened to Martin giving directions to the crime scene techs. He waited until Samantha was alone for a moment, then approached her.

'Samantha - ' _Let me explain_. _It won't happen again. Your back-up wasn't in place because I was too focused on you, on this situation between us, to pay attention to Martin. I'm sorry. It won't happen again_. The words died before they reached his mouth, because she wasn't paying attention to him at all.

She gave him a tight smile, then pushed past and walked over to Martin. She touched his shoulder, and said something that Jack couldn't quite hear. Something that made Martin smile.

And Jack Malone realised, with a jolt that sent nausea sweeping through his gut, that she wasn't thinking about him at all. She didn't give a damn about his split second mistake, or his explanations, and she didn't even seem to notice that he was standing around like a stuffed moose, silent and useless. He was obsessed with what had happened, with the tension between the three of them, but she wasn't.

She only noticed Martin.

SAMANTHA

She could smell blood, which always made her faintly queasy. She could see the youthful kidnapper's body, covered in a red-stained sheet, sprawled on the floor where her bullet and Martin's had intersected to blow his chest apart. She imagined there would be an inquest, an internal investigation, several reams of paperwork to fill in.

But somehow she didn't care.

When the kid had fired his single shot, she had known it wouldn't hit her. She could see his eyes looking past her in rage and fear, staring back over her shoulder. And her first thought had been _Martin!_

Her heart was still racing at the thought of what might have been, but her brain was racing along an entirely different track. Martin shouldn't have been behind her. The only way he could have been behind her was if he wasn't in position when she moved – which was odd in itself, seeing as Jack had given her the signal to go ahead – so logically speaking she shouldn't have been worried about him. If anything, that instant flash of worry should have been for Jack, who she _knew_ was behind her and who the kid could quite possibly have spotted.

But it wasn't.

Her only thought had been for Martin.

She looked across at him, standing talking to one of the crime scene technicians. He gestured slightly, said something she couldn't quite hear, and made the technician laugh. Unable to help herself, she smiled. A few days ago, she had been happy just to be alive, happy with her decision to go with the flow.

Today, that happiness seemed like a mere drop in the ocean, because today _Martin_ was alive. He might not have been, but he was. Maybe there would be trouble later about the shooting, maybe the dead young man's family would be devastated, maybe the young victim would be traumatised from seeing it – but Martin was alive.

And the fact that thinking it made her heart skip a beat and her lips curve irresistibly made her realise something else. Something very important.

She eased away from the crime scene, and starting walking towards Martin. Jack stepped up to her and looked like he was about to say something, but she ignored him. This wasn't about him any more, and maybe it never had been.

Martin moved away from the crime scene technician, and she intercepted him deftly. 'Hey.'

'Hey, yourself.' He always had a smile for her, she realised, and he didn't care who saw it. Or what they might think. She kept walking, nudging him gently away from the crowd of people around the crime scene. He followed without question.

'God, it's a circus in here.' She looked around at the swarming mass of law enforcement personnel, then turned back to Martin. 'I'm glad you're okay.'

'You and me both,' he said, sobering. 'You scared me for a minute then, moving in like then when I wasn't ready.'

She shrugged. 'Jack gave me the signal, so I assumed it was safe. He must have lost you in the shadows.'

He nodded. 'I guess so.' He took a deep breath. 'Will I, uh, see you tonight?'

'Is that an offer?'

He gave her that special smile he reserved just for her. 'Always.'

She smiled back at him, and the happiness she was feeling bubbled so far up in her chest she just couldn't hold it in anymore. She leaned in close, dropped her voice, and led with her heart. 'I think I might be falling in love with you, Martin.'

He stared at her. 'Sam - '

She hushed him, gently. 'I probably shouldn't have said that here,' she told him, still smiling. 'But I couldn't seem to help myself.'

'I - '

She hushed him again. She knew how he felt, had known it almost from the beginning, but she didn't want him to say it here and now. If he did, there was a nasty chance this conversation wouldn't stay private for long, and she desperately wanted it to. She glanced over her shoulder. 'They don't need us here anymore.' There would be more to worry about tomorrow – more paperwork, more questions, more press – but for now there was nothing more they could do. 'Let's get out of here.'

Jack was nowhere to be found, so they detoured past Viv to let her know they were leaving. She nodded absentmindedly, and they left the warehouse together. Outside, the air was cold and crisp, and the night sky stretched above them like black velvet. Police cruisers with flashing lights were parked around the main entrance, and TV cameras were already starting to gather beyond the police barricade.

Sam and Martin made a dash for their car and, because at that moment the kidnapper's body was wheeled out in a body bag, made it with no interference from anyone. Sam slid behind the wheel, tugged her seatbelt on, and turned the key in the ignition.

'You want to come to my place tonight?' she asked, and hoped the question sounded as casual as she wanted it to. 'For a change?'

He twisted in his seat and grinned at her. 'They say a change is as good as a holiday.'

She smiled as she pulled away from the warehouse, smiled still as she turned left down the highway. She'd take him home tonight, she thought, and show him her big, lonely bed. She wouldn't worry anymore that Jack's lingering ghost hovering in the room, complicating matters, because he didn't matter anymore.

Maybe he never really had.

Either way, he didn't matter now. Now, Sam thought as she flipped on the radio and settled in for the drive, now there was just Martin.

And she wouldn't have it any other way.


End file.
